


the pain and the bitter taste of the blood on my lips

by homobirb



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Vampires, you fools the best part of vampires is the biting kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26310028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homobirb/pseuds/homobirb
Summary: His eyes flutter open briefly when Arthur takes hold of his (cold) hand."Arthur," he says. His voice is weak and nearly too quiet to hear."I'm here," Arthur says. There's a cold panic in his stomach, but he swallows it down and squeezes Merlin's fragile hand."I'm glad." Merlin gives a small smile, dry lips nearly cracking open.Merlin doesn’t survive the vampire attack.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020, borb's btb 2020 works





	the pain and the bitter taste of the blood on my lips

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [iron by woodkid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nj9ucBQ04Ag)
> 
> written for the banned together bingo, prompt "vampirism" (the free space on my card)

Arthur, despite all his effort, can't move his limbs. They're in one of the villages on the outskirts of their territory, on a mission to hunt down whatever magical creature is draining the villagers of their blood and leaving rotting corpses in their wake. They had managed to catch one by surprise right as the sun dipped below the horizon, a human-like figure with pale skin and teeth as sharp as daggers. He'd been able to ram his sword straight through its heart and, when its limbs still reached out towards him, chopped off its head for good measure.

They were set to leave the following morning, after getting some rest at one of the villager's houses, the threat contained.

Until his eyes fly open and he sees something move towards him. It's a shadowy figure, moving silently, and Arthur's eyes strain to make out any details.

It steps into a patch of moonlight streaking in from a nearby window, revealing its deathly pale face sneering down at him.

His sword is with the rest of his gear at the foot of his bed. His muscles twitch as he attempts to surge upwards, but finds himself frozen where he lays.

"You," it says, rough voice echoing within his skull. "You're the one that killed her. My sweet Thea."

It looks over to Merlin, sleeping soundly across the room. Arthur's blood runs cold.

"Don't you dare," he wants to whisper, but the words just won't come out, his mouth refusing to work.

"It only seems fair that I return the favor." It gives one final look towards Arthur, lips stretched wide over glinting sharp teeth in a disturbing facsimile of a smile.

Arthur blinks, and the creature is at Merlin's side. He can't make out the finer details of what he is seeing, but he can tell when it bends over Merlin's sleeping figure. And he can only watch with horror as Merlin's arms begin to flail, attempting to push the creature off of him, pained and panicked groans filling the silence.

It only pulls back when Merlin's arms flop uselessly back onto the bedspread, and he’s no longer fighting back, maybe even no longer alive.

The last thing Arthur sees before he's swallowed up by darkness is the creature looking back at him with blood dripping from its mouth, lips stretched over a horrifying smile with teeth stained red.

* * *

He wakes shortly after dawn. Once he blinks back the sleep from his eyes, the events of the previous night come rushing back to him, and he bolts upright and nearly takes the bedspread with him as he tumbles out of bed.

Merlin looks peaceful, which is the first thought that comes to his mind. With his dark curls spread out on the pillow like a halo, his expression soft, Arthur finds himself momentarily stopped to take in the sight.

Several moments pass and he manages to shake himself of his reverie. Merlin's chest nearly imperceptibly rises and falls, and Arthur lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His heartbeat, though, when Arthur presses his ear to his chest, seems too slow. There're two large wounds on the side of his neck, in the same place all the other corpses had, a mess of gore and dried blood.

"Merlin."

Below him, Merlin begins to stir.

"Merlin," he tries again, giving Merlin's arm a small squeeze.

His eyes open. It's not the typical wide-eyed look Merlin is apt to give him; rather, his lids open barely halfway, looking at him with an almost hazy quality.

"Arthur," he says, his voice quiet. " 'm glad you're alright."

With that, he closes his eyes and seems to drift back to sleep.

* * *

The ride back to Camelot feels infinitely long. He's left a couple of his knights in the village, in order to make sure there were no more threats…which is what he told the villagers, despite the actuality of the situation being the opposite. But, in this moment, a moment his father would surely admonish him for if he knew, the most important thing is to take Merlin back to Gaius and to pray for his survival.

There's a flutter of movement around him when he returns. He doesn't bother giving the reins to the stable boy not twenty feet away, instead dismounting in a hurry and carrying Merlin's weak figure in his arms. Servants part way for him as he strides, nearly runs, towards Gaius' door.

Gaius' normally unperturbed facade is broken when he spots Merlin. "My dear boy," he says. "What happened?"

And so he lays Merlin down in the cot Gaius points him to and begins to speak. The words tumble out of him, and he only hopes his ramblings have enough sense for Gaius to understand.

Gaius nods thoughtfully, giving a couple of ‘uh-huh’s while he examines Merlin.

"Sire. I'm afraid all I can do now is attempt to stabilize him. Why don't you get some rest? I'll send word if his condition changes." With that, Gaius summarily pushes him out the door.

* * *

He hears back from Gaius less than a day later. He's sharpening one of his swords in the armory, trying to find solace in the meditative task, when a servant tries to capture his attention.

"Yes?"

"It's Gaius, Sire. He says Merlin's condition has worsened."

* * *

Arthur finds himself nearly sprinting down the corridors. When he bursts through Gaius' door, the man looks hardly surprised. Without a word, he gestures towards the cot in the middle of the room.

Merlin looks hellish. His skin is sickly pale and there are purple circles below his eyes. No more is the angelic sight he was caught in right after the attack; now, Merlin is little more than a (scarcely) breathing corpse, his chest still rising with breath but getting slower and slower. Arthur knew at the moment the servant spoke to him to deliver the news that Merlin was on the precipice of death, but seeing it in reality with his own eyes is another thing entirely.

His eyes flutter open briefly when Arthur takes hold of his ( _cold_ ) hand.

"Arthur," he says. His voice is weak and nearly too quiet to hear.

"I'm here," Arthur says. There's a cold panic in his stomach, but he swallows it down and squeezes Merlin's fragile hand.

"I'm glad." Merlin gives a small smile, dry lips nearly cracking open. His eyelids droop shut.

His heart stops beating several minutes later.

Arthur continues to hold his hand for nearly an hour, and it takes several more to actually leave, even when Gaius drapes a cloth over Merlin ( _the body_ , a small voice inside him corrects).

He returns to his chambers, throws a wine glass at the wall to watch it shatter, and punches his fists against the cool stone of the walls until his knuckles split open and he watches the blood bubble and drip down the back of his hands.

* * *

Merlin is buried the next day.

His resting place is on a small hill, not a thirty minute ride from Camelot's walls.

Arthur watches from the treeline, away from the small crowd surrounding the grave Merlin is to be lowered into.

Gwen gives him a small smile, tears shining in her eyes, after most of the crowd has dispersed.

He's the last to leave, after the dirt is packed down over the hole and several rocks are piled high and placed squarely over the disturbed earth. His fists are clenched, fingernails digging half-moon circles into his flesh. He takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t relax. Instead, he turns and storms back to his chambers, the short ride not doing anything to soothe his mood.

Arthur waives away the servant that brings him dinner; he doesn’t have an appetite. Hasn’t had much of one since he let go of Merlin’s hand, food tasting like nothing but flavorless mush in his mouth. There’s a gnawing emptiness in him that isn’t satiated by food, nor is it satiated by slamming his fists into any inanimate object he can think of, but those brief flashes of pain overwhelm his senses and he forgets, even for just a moment. And that’s enough for him.

* * *

Several nights later, Arthur wakes in the middle of the night.

There's a weight on top of him, and despite all his training, Arthur finds he can't move any of his limbs again.

It's too dark to see the finer details, but it is definitely human. Or human-shaped.

A cold hand presses against his cheek.

The creature whispers, " _Arthur_ ," in a voice that is too familiar, and Arthur's heart breaks into even more pieces.

* * *

It's a hallucination, he assures himself. A dream.

And yet the weight of Merlin above him feels all too real.

"Arthur," Merlin says again. "Gods, I'm so thirsty, Arthur."

Merlin leans forward, resting his forehead against Arthur's. " _Please_. Help me, Arthur."

From this distance, Arthur can't help but look into Merlin's eyes, no longer blue but a faintly glowing red. He still has the dark circles under his eyes, and he looks like a risen corpse, looks nearly the same as the day that he died. But his voice is no longer a weak rasp, and his eyes have the same degree of alertness that Merlin always had, before they rode out to that village and before Arthur watched his manservant and _friend_ die right before his eyes.

Perhaps this is some sort of demon, wearing Merlin's face. A form of cruel magic.

Lips press against his own. They're cold but soft, and Arthur can't help but sigh into the touch. A tongue swipes into his mouth and Merlin—or whatever creature that sits above him—begins to map out the ridges of his teeth. It's too intoxicating and dizzying. When Merlin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, the pain sends a jolt directly to his groin. It hurts, but Merlin's tongue is laving at the wound and making little noises of pleasure and Arthur realizes several things.

The first is that he doesn't care whether it's Merlin or something else on top of him.

The second is that he doesn't want Merlin to stop.

And the third is that, despite how much of a bad idea it is, he wants Merlin to bite him again.

Unfortunately, Merlin pulls back a fraction of an inch. He leaves Arthur gasping, who curses whatever sort of sorcery that holds his limbs down and is preventing him from rolling both of them over and directly rutting his quickly forming erection against Merlin.

"You taste _so_ good," Merlin whispers against his lips.

“Please,” he manages to say, a small whimper.

Merlin’s responding smile is downright predatory and intoxicating.

* * *

If this is Merlin, Arthur reasons, somehow returned from the dead because he’s _Merlin_ and all the egregious luck entailed with that which has so far prevented him from befalling a horrible fate despite being perhaps one of the largest idiots in Camelot…then perhaps ( _hopefully_ ) Merlin is enough of himself to not harm Arthur.

It’s a stupid idea, really, trying to rationalize while he’s in the (metaphorical and perhaps physical as well) jaws of the beast, at the mercy of a predator above him. Merlin licks a cold stripe against the side of his neck, and he can’t suppress the shudder that rips through him.

Those soft lips lightly press at his skin.

Arthur takes a deep breath, swallowing down his nerves.

When Merlin’s lips spread open and two sharp teeth cut deep in his skin, he expects pain to ripple through him. What instead comes is a slow shock of pleasure, cutting straight through his lower belly, and his breath catches. It’s as though Merlin is merely sipping at him, enjoying him like a fine wine, rather than the frenzied feeding he witnessed nearly a week ago.

He also doesn’t expect the downright filthy sounds coming out of Merlin’s mouth, sweet moans and grunts and the wet sounds Merlin makes against his neck, so close to his ear. If he wasn’t already hard, this is what surely would have pushed his cock to grow heavy between his legs. His entire body buzzes with arousal.

Merlin pulls back way too soon. If he could, Arthur would guide his face back and pull his head closer until he got the message. There’s blood smeared at the corners of his lips, and Arthur watches a tongue swipe at them.

Later, he isn’t able to exactly recall how, but soon enough one of Merlin’s hands is in his breeches and wrapping tight around him and pressing his soft lips back against Arthur’s. And if Merlin’s mouth tastes of copper, he doesn’t complain, too preoccupied with Merlin’s tongue against his and he’s already _so close_. Merlin’s wrist twists on an up-stroke and—

His orgasm is blinding. His toes curl and he moans unabashedly into Merlin’s mouth, and Merlin seems all too eager to drink the sounds in. He continues to hold him through the aftershocks of pleasure, until his flesh is too sensitive.

Arthur falls back asleep all too easily, the last thing he sees being Merlin looking down at him with such reverence he feels a swell of pride in his chest before his eyes slip closed.

* * *

The next day, he visits the grave. But only after carefully examining the twin bite marks on his throat in the mirror and wrapping a scarf around his neck to hide the wound.

Merlin’s grave doesn’t look any different from the day he was buried.

Arthur doesn’t know what to think.

* * *

Merlin visits him again several nights later.

Arthur doesn’t question his luck, not this time. What matters is that Merlin is here and his flesh feels real enough.

He doesn’t question how he can thread his fingers through Merlin’s soft hair and tug his face close, nor does he question how he can hold Merlin’s hip in a bruising grip and grind up against him. He doesn’t even try to roll them over; he may be a prince, but Merlin pinning him down is arguably the best thing he has right now and he doesn’t want to do anything that might risk Merlin leaving.

Merlin looks at him with such adoration, grinding back down on Arthur. He tugs Merlin’s hair and pulls him close enough to capture his lips, those soft, wet lips, already eagerly groaning into his mouth. His cock is already fat with blood, and it’s so, _so_ good to feel Merlin’s hips grinding down on him, trapping his erection in sweet friction.

He would honestly be content to continue until he spills within his own smallclothes like a young adolescent, the combined pressure of Merlin’s weight and Merlin’s sharp fangs nipping pleasantly at his lips. But then Merlin pulls back.

Arthur tilts his head, baring his neck. He’s ready, having thought of this in the days of Merlin’s absence, the memory of the sensation of fangs buried deep in his throat bringing him to completion with the tight grip of his fist whenever he was afforded a moment alone.

Merlin kisses the two scabs. He lightly brushes his lips over the skin of Arthur’s neck, sending a shiver down Arthur’s spine. Arthur is so ready, so eager.

He’s disappointed when Merlin moves further down, but it’s quickly replaced with pleasure as Merlin settles between his legs, pressing a hand down hard against his cock. Arthur watches with keen interest as Merlin pulls his smallclothes off, but he can’t help throwing his head back with a bitten off moan as Merlin wraps his lips around him. It’s tight and wet and, perhaps if he were more within a logical state of mind, he might be more wary of Merlin’s fangs accidentally catching on the delicate skin. But Merlin is careful, and the only sensations Arthur feels is the wet suction of Merlin’s mouth enveloping him.

It quickly becomes nearly too much. Perhaps he should care more about the speed at which he is coming unraveled, but the pleasure is clouding his mind. He thrusts his arm down, his wrist exposed.

“Bite me,” he begs. “Please.”

Merlin’s mouth is no less wet when it pulls off of his cock and presses against the skin of his wrist. He can feel Merlin’s lips twitch into a smile, before his mouth twists into a snarl with his sharp teeth exposed and he bites down. And, oh, it’s just as good as the first time, perhaps better, since Merlin’s hand—the one not holding his wrist—is wrapped tight around his erection, pumping up and down in a fast rhythm. Arthur can feel his balls start to tighten, and Merlin digs his teeth in deeper and _growls_ and his hand is like a vice grip around him, fist slick with saliva and precome. Barely several moments later he spills over Merlin’s hand.

Merlin blinks up at him, his fist slowing in its strokes. It’s just barely on the edge of too much stimulation, but not quite enough to make Arthur pull away. Instead, Merlin pulls his teeth out of his flesh, mouth smeared with dewy drops of his blood. He makes a great show of licking at his hand, the one covered in Arthur’s seed, occasionally blinking his eyes shut and moaning at the taste. Arthur’s cock, despite having come barely minutes before, twitches with interest.

Once his hand is clean, Merlin returns back to his exposed wrist. The bite marks are still sluggishly bleeding, and Merlin laps it up before sinking his teeth back in. It feels only natural to Arthur to thread his free hand into Merlin’s dark hair. He easily falls asleep like that, Merlin still slowly sucking at his wrist, his fingers entwined in the soft hair.

* * *

He visits Gaius two days later.

“Do you think it’s possible that Merlin is still alive?”

Gaius turns away from his worktable and looks at him with an incredulous expression. “Sire?”

Arthur doesn’t fiddle with the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit trained out of him before becoming an adult, but his fingers still twitch. “We were fighting a magical creature, after all. It stands to reason that perhaps there is…more happening behind the scenes. Something we didn’t understand at first.”

And Gaius looks at him for a moment. “Well, I suppose it could be possible in a sense. The creature you fought, from your description, seems to be a vampire, and it is possible for them to turn a human into another vampire, but there’s only one way as far as I’m aware. Tell me, did you see it give any of its blood to Merlin?”

“I-” It’s painful to think about that night, but he powers through, swallowing down any unpleasant feelings. “I don’t recall. My limbs felt as though they were frozen, and I am afraid I do not remember much after the creature…bit Merlin.”

He suddenly feels foolish, pursuing this line of questioning. Of course Merlin is dead. Arthur _watched him die_. No one can escape death like that.

“Nevermind, this line of questioning is foolish and I apologize for taking your time.” He turns to leave.

“Sire, your wrist-” Gaius may be old, but the speed at which his hand grabs onto Arthur’s arm could rival some of Camelot’s greatest knights. Arthur can only swallow his dread as Gaius pulls up his sleeve to get a better look at the bite mark.

“A wound, from when we fought the creatures that took Merlin.” It feels automatic, to hide Merlin’s continued visits to him late at night. The marks Merlin leaves on him are the only pieces of evidence come morning that Merlin was ever there at all, that he was— _is_ still alive, despite the oddity of the circumstances. If all that is required to see his manservant again is a few mouthfuls of blood every couple of nights, then Arthur is more than happy to pay that price.

Gaius sees right through him, and raises a questioning eyebrow. “If there’s something happening involving Merlin, I think it’s very important that you tell me.”

Arthur can’t look at him, eyes darting away. Gaius has known him since he was a boy; of course he would be adept at telling whenever he told a lie or was trying to hide something. Arthur finds himself cursing Gaius’ perception.

“Sire,” Gaius says in a low whisper, his voice serious. “Has Merlin come back as a vampire?”

It’s not something that’s easy to say, but he musters up all his confidence and looks straight at Gaius as he says, “No.”

* * *

That night, Merlin shows up, his body a welcome weight atop Arthur.

Time feels so slow as Merlin peels back his clothes, his smallclothes, revealing his cock, already beginning to harden. And then Arthur’s breath catches as Merlin pulls back to remove his own clothes.

His cock is beautiful, and Arthur can barely stop staring. It’s flush with blood, a contrast to the rest of Merlin’s pale skin, and Arthur finds himself wanting to trace the prominent veins, with fingers or his tongue.

Merlin surprises him, lifting his hips and holding Arthur’s erection in hand, and then he’s sinking down, the head of his cock pushing through a ring of muscle, and it’s unexpectedly wet and _warm_.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, ending the word with a groan as Merlin’s rear hits his hips.

“Arthur,” Merlin says right back, giving a low moan before raising his hips. They slam back down and Arthur swears he sees stars for a moment.

He doesn’t last long. Merlin’s so tight and wet around him, squeezing him perfectly, throwing his head back to moan and let out all sorts of delicious noises that cloud his mind over with pleasure, and Arthur tries to take in every detail, to sear it all directly into his brain.

His hips meet Merlin’s ass, thrusting up when he’s sliding down, and it’s _perfect_ , making a loud _slap_ at the point of contact. And it must be a good angle for Merlin, for moans and swears drip out of his mouth, lips parted slightly, enough that Arthur can see a peek of the sharp canines within.

It’s all _so much_ , and _just right_ , and his hips jerk upwards as he starts to come, and that must be what tips Merlin over, his own cock twitching and spurting out white all over Arthur’s stomach.

Merlin doesn’t seem to mind the mess they’ve made; he lays directly on top of Arthur and twines their fingers together, his ear pressed against Arthur’s chest. Arthur wonders if Merlin can hear his heartbeat, wonders if the sound brings him comfort.

“Merlin,” he says. Merlin gives a small hum, clinging to him tighter. “I want you to make me a vampire.”

“Hmm. And you’d be okay with it? With drinking blood? Dying?”

It feels only natural to say, “Yes.”

And so Merlin reluctantly pulls back, placing both of his palms on Arthur’s shoulders. “Do you know how it happens? What we’d have to do?”

“Yes.”

Merlin smiles, lips pulling back to show sharp teeth. “Then let’s begin.”

The first place Merlin bites is his forearm. The next is his neck, at the same place he bit before. Then, he lifts up Arthur’s leg and bites directly into the meat of his thigh. Arthur’s cock twitches, despite already losing so much blood that he’s beginning to feel dizzy.

The last place is his chest, directly over his heart. Merlin laps at the blood trickling out, keeping his half-lidded eyes on Arthur the entire time.

His head’s spinning and he can’t _think_ , just breathes and watches Merlin through hazy eyes. But then Merlin’s pressing a pale wrist to his mouth, bright red blood dripping from a bite mark, and Arthur readily latches on, swallowing down the liquid. It tastes like copper, but the taste doesn’t phase him as much as it usually would.

Arthur doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Eventually, Merlin pulls his arm back and Arthur’s eyelids droop and he can just barely hear Merlin say, “Sleep well, my love,” before the darkness blacks out his entire vision.

* * *

The news travels fast. Arthur, Prince of Camelot, is bedridden with a grave illness, although the maids that have access to his rooms are quick to tell all that the prince is covered in these small wounds that resemble bite marks.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Uther.

The first thing Gaius tells Arthur when he’s more conscious than not is that Merlin’s grave was dug up. The physician sits on a chair pulled close to his bed, and looks at him intently. “His body wasn’t there.”

This is not news to Arthur, not after Merlin’s continued visits to him.

Gaius leans towards him, and Arthur sluggishly turns his head toward the man. “Tell me, Sire, what exactly has Merlin done to you?”

Arthur takes a slow, deep breath. “He came back for me,” is all he can say, slightly mumbled, before sleep overtakes him.

* * *

The first thing his father says, however, is, “I swear I’ll kill whoever did this to you. Arthur, you can’t leave me. Not like your mother.”

Arthur can’t tell if the expression on Uther is anger or disgust. Perhaps a mixture of both.

But what his father wants no longer matters. He closes his eyes, a small content smile on his lips even as his body is dying. After all, Merlin is coming for him, and it won’t be long until they’re together again.

* * *

His passing is as peaceful as Merlin’s. Morgana holds his hand and doesn’t bother wiping the tears rolling down her cheeks. Uther stands behind her and looks down upon him with an unreadable expression. Gaius stands on the other side of the room, and it’s his eyes Arthur meets, taking in the disapproving expression, before letting his own droop fully closed.

Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot stops breathing soon after. When Gaius declares his heart stopped, Morgana clutches at his hand even tighter and cries out, while Uther turns away and walks right out of the room.

* * *

Arthur wakes up.

He’s gasping, sucking in lungfuls of air. There’s a burning ache at the back of his throat, and everything inside him is screaming for something, urging him into a near frenzy of pure need.

He crawls off the raised platform his body was resting on, nearly falling off of it before catching himself, and meets the knowing eyes of his father across the room.

Something shifts, and Arthur is suddenly aware of a presence behind him. He dodges left, just in time to avoid a blade slashing through the space he previously occupied. It’s one of the castle guards, stumbling forward just the slightest bit as his weapon misses his target.

It’s plenty of an opening. He knocks the sword out of his grasp and rips his helmet off. The guard struggles the entire time, his fist meeting the flesh of Arthur’s cheek in a harsh punch that wrenches his head to the side.

It should hurt. Arthur knows this, but the fact is that it doesn’t, instead feeling like the impact was but the lightest of touches.

He turns his head back towards the guard, a wicked smile on his face.

It’s easy, too easy, to grab onto him, ripping the chainmail away from his neck, sending dozens of broken chainmail rings everywhere. The guard still struggles, but within Arthur’s grasp, his strength is equivalent to a kitten, fragile.

It’s on pure instinct that he buries his teeth in the delicate skin of the guard’s throat, greedily swallowing down mouthfuls of blood until the man slows his fighting, pushing away with weak hands, then sags in his arms. Arthur drops the corpse.

Another guard comes rushing at him, but it’s all too easy to dodge. It’s even easier to step behind them and snap their neck, the sick sound loud and satisfying to his ears.

When he looks up, his father is furious, face flushed with blood. “How dare you! Wearing my son’s face, using my son’s body for your evil.” Uther draws his sword and steadies himself into a fighting stance. “I’ll kill you!”

Arthur is ready to rush across the room, to meet the challenge. There’s a steady beating he can hear, coming from his father, and it takes him several moments to realize that is his heart. And only a moment more to realize how much he desires to rip the organ straight out of his chest, to bite into the flesh and feel it give way to sweet, luscious blood, gushing out and into his waiting mouth.

And then something is grabbing his hand. Arthur’s head whips back and—it’s Merlin.

“Arthur,” he says. “Let me teach you something.”

Merlin looks towards Uther and his red eyes flash, for just a moment, and, when Arthur looks back at Uther, the man is still, unnaturally so.

“We have the power to paralyze our targets,” Merlin explains. “We can’t very well convince many people to stick their necks out for us with our appearances, so we have to hunt down our prey. And, when the time is right, paralyze them to keep them from running away.”

“Merlin,” he says, and it comes out as a growl. There’s too many things he’s feeling, thirst, lust, anger, relief, excitement, and they all feel intensely magnified.

“You’re still hungry, aren’t you?” Merlin caresses his cheek, a gentle touch against his skin. “Here. I’ll show you how to feed with more self-restraint, to stop before your prey dies.”

Merlin pulls him towards Uther, who watches them with both fear and rage in his eyes. He pulls Uther’s collar down, and there’s Uther’s bare skin, veins and arteries pumping just below the surface, and Arthur can’t draw his eyes away.

“Go ahead,” Merlin says. “I’ll let you know when to stop.”

And so he leans over and bares his fangs and latches onto his father’s neck. Uther lets out a pained groan, and the blood spurts onto Arthur’s tongue, hot liquid pouring down his throat.

It tastes different than the guard. There’s notes of smoke, of heavy metal and steel, and it’s all delicious as Arthur swallows down each mouthful.

It feels like no time at all before Merlin pulls his head back. “That’s enough.” Reluctantly, he pulls back and wipes the blood from his lips. Uther’s still paralyzed, and the wound on his neck continues to sluggishly bleed.

They leave. Merlin takes him out the nearest open window, and together they run in the darkness, leaving behind their old lives, their mortality, their humanity. They hide from the sunlight in caves and abandoned buildings, and at night they feed, on animals and any human that dares to tread too close to them. And when Uther sends small groups of men after him, they take their time to drink from each and every one of them, leaving a trail of corpses in their wake.

It’s easy for Arthur to say he has no regrets. He has Merlin, and that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr,](https://itshomobirb.tumblr.com/) [my nsfw twitter,](https://twitter.com/homobirb) and [my sfw twitter](https://twitter.com/frozenborbsicle)
> 
> this didn’t fit anywhere in the actual story, but the reason why merlin turned even w/o blood is because he's emrys, magical things do fucky things when he’s involved, and basically the magic stepped in and did the vampire transformation for him??? although because vampires are “unnatural” creatures, merlin couldn’t keep his magic.


End file.
